


Coming Home

by Duskfall



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: A shit ton of flashbacks, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Mike/Jessica and Ashley/Sam, Climbing Class, Josh finally gets the ending he deserves, M/M, Past Sam/Beth Washington - Freeform, Post-Game, They All Live (except the twins)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-08 05:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7745152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duskfall/pseuds/Duskfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dawn has come, and seven friends have been rescued from a night of horror on Blackwood Mountain. But one was left behind, and all searches have been called off as Joshua Washington is presumed dead.</p><p>Chris refuses to give up hope, and returns to the mountain to save his best friend before it's too late. Surviving a second night on Blackwood won't be easy, but some people are worth risking everything for.</p><p>(An alternate twist on the Everyone Lives ending, in which Chris goes after Josh instead of the search parties seen in the post-credits scene.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! To quickly debrief, this story takes place directly after the events of Until Dawn, with a few minor changes as explained in the summary that will make all the difference, true to the butterfly effect. It's basically a way to release all my pent-up frustration over Josh's "good" ending, as well as exploring Chris and Josh's relationship both before and after the game. Just as a warning, the prologue isn't nearly as well-written as the following chapters due to the fact that I wrote it at around 2:00 AM. Enjoy!

When Chris came to, the world was blindingly white.

He lay still for a few moments, blinking groggily up at the ceiling. _Ceiling?_ The last thing he remembered was a great plume of fire, and the heavy smell of smoke, and shouting as a helicopter descended in front of the morning sun . . .

There was a bright light shining down directly above him, and he raised a hand to block it out. But even through squinted eyes, he could see that something was off. A needle was piercing the back of his hand, a piece of tape covering it and keeping it stuck into his skin. _An IV_ , his brain supplied. And that could only mean one thing.

He sat up quickly, head spinning, and looked around to see the familiar scene of a hospital wing. His bed was one of six in the large room, and the one of only two that was occupied. No nurses were to be seen, but he wasn't alone. Grasping at his side table, he was relieved to find his glasses sitting next to a vase of flowers, and shoved them on for the two girls sitting on the bed next to him to come into focus.

Ashley was the first to look up, and her eyes widened. She tugged on Sam's arm with a small smile, and the other girl broke into a full-on grin as she met Chris's eyes.

"Hey there, sleepyhead," Ash teased, fingering the hem of her shirt. Her blood-spattered clothes from the mountain were gone, replaced with a fresh set of plain clothes from the hospital, identical to the ones Sam was wearing. Chris vaguely registered that he had also been changed into a simple white shirt and loose trousers. An uncomfortable shiver ran down his back at the thought of some staff member stripping him down while unconscious, but he didn't dwell on it for very long.

"Where are we?" Chris questioned immediately, one hand flying to his head. He winced as he touched the sensitive part of his forehead, where he had been knocked out cold with a single punch only . . . how long ago? "How long was I out for?"

Sam chuckled. "Careful there, buddy. I heard the doctors say you have a pretty bad concussion, not to mention your leg." She paused, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear. "We're in some hospital just outside of Blackwood. You've been lying there for about twenty-three hours. We were all starting to get worried."

"As soon as we got into the helicopter back on the mountain, you sort of passed out," Ashley supplied. "I guess it was all just a bit overwhelming."

 _You can say that again_. Chris sat there for a few moments, trying to process everything. _The mountain_. Memories came flooding back, hitting him in a constant stream. His friends lying on the kitchen floor, and a gloved fist flying at his head. Josh, getting torn apart by a spinning saw. Underground chambers, suffocating and covered in horrific hooks and bloody walls. The cold kiss of a gun against his neck. The old man's head landing in a pool of blood outside the shed. Running through the snow, heart pounding as he shot again and again at the creature that couldn't be killed. Sam, being blasted out of the lodge as the place he'd been visiting since he was ten got blown to rubble in a burst of flame.

He was quiet, staring around at the empty wing. Eight friends had gone up the mountain that night. He counted six beds, including his own. "Where is everyone? The others?"

"They're okay, Chris. Don't worry." Ashley's smile softened. She gently put an arm around Sam's middle, and the other girl instinctually leaned towards her. "We just decided to stay behind in case you woke up. I guess that was a good call in the end."

"Guess so." Chris managed a small smile. "I just worried. Six beds, eight people. Though I wouldn't be surprised if Jess and Mike insisted on sharing a bed."

Both girls laughed, relieved to see that Chris was back to his usual humorous self so quickly. But tiny warning bells went off in Chris's mind, and he could see that something had switched in their mood. They seemed somewhat uneasy, their smiles a bit too forced. It felt . . . off. "Jess got her own room. That's where all the others are now – she's in recovery. Her injuries were the worst, but she'll be okay in time. A few broken ribs, multiple open gashes, internal bleeding, head trauma. It's pretty bad, but in the end she'll only come out with a few scars. The cuts were too deep for cosmetics." Sam shook her head a little, sighing. "Mike and Matt haven't left her side since we got here. Even Em's in there with her. I guess some things are more important than cat fights."

Chris laughed slightly with them, but tilted his head a little. "I would've thought Mike'd be one of the worst. You know, with the whole finger crisis."

Sam scoffed. "He's playing the brave little soldier again, as always. He and Em have matching infections now, though. Mike was using sixty-year-old bandages on open wounds, and it turns out Emily's bite was infected after all. Just in a less _supernatural_ way."

Chris heard a small gulp, and noticed Ashley shifting uncomfortably at the mention of Emily's bite. _Ah_. Chris had almost forgotten that particular part of the night. He felt a twinge of guilt. Even he had added fuel to the flames back in the safe room, frozen by fear of the monsters. _I've seen what these fuckers can do. I don't want to see it again._

A chill slipped down his spine, and he pushed away the memories before they would trigger even more. But in the silence after Sam's awkward slip, Chris had time to think about something else. He played back what she had said so far, and something was missing. He had a sinking feeling as he recalled the girls' uncomfortable expressions after he mentioned eight people, and how they had tiptoed around one subject.

"Josh," Chris breathed suddenly, and Sam's eyes darted to her lap. _Shit._ He looked to Ashley instead, who seemed to shrink in on herself. "Ash, tell me he's here, too?"

In the few seconds before she answered, he could feel the racing of his own pulse in his ears. And then, when she did speak, it felt more like his heart had stopped.

"No."

There were tears in Ashley's eyes, and even she couldn't hold his gaze. Chris didn't notice. He had looked away already, and stared ahead at nothing as jumbled thoughts crowded his mind, each worse than the last. _He's already out of the hospital. No, he never came here. They will have thought he did everything, back on Blackwood. He's been arrested, or institutionalized, or . . ._ And then, the worst of all.

Sam finally looked up. She was taking deep, quiet breaths and keeping a calm front like she always did. Not that it fooled anyone now, but she had always been the one to stay strong for the others, and could be the most stubborn in their group of friends if she wanted to. She could see the unspoken question in Chris's gaze, and shook her head. "He's gone."

The words hit him like a blow. He swallowed, closing his eyes, and the room was filled with a heavy silence. He could hear the sounds of Ashley's quiet crying, and Sam talking to her gently. Nobody spoke to Chris, and that suited him just fine.

The girls left not long after that. They quietly slipped from the room, with little more than a murmured explanation of checking in on Jessica with the others. And Chris was alone.

 

* * *

 

In retrospect, he should have known that his stolen moment of peace wouldn't last long. As soon as the doctors found out he had woken up, some overworked nurse was barging in to check on him and fill him in on the situation. Even that wasn't the end, and he was barely surprised when a pair of police officers showed up to inform him that he was needed for questioning.

Because how could mourning a best friend possibly be more important than duties as a witness?

The worst part was when he walked – well, limped – into the tiny Blackwood Pines police station and saw the pile of clothes stacked neatly on a chair. On top was unmistakably the blue jacket he had worn on the mountain. After seeing Chris's eyes widen and him taking a step back as if it was some horrible, toxic thing, the officers had apologized, but told him that it would take less explaining later if the taped interview looked like it had occurred at the same time as his friends' did, while he had been passed out.

As he watched himself pull on that jacket in the cracked bathroom mirror, memories crowded his mind in a maelstrom of guilt and fear and loss. It was all he could do to keep them at bay by instead imagining the things he wished he could do or say to those officers waiting outside.

Inside the interview room, a camera was pointed at the far wall, where he was asked to stand by a tired-looking woman with a notepad. "Sorry we have to ask this of you, Chris. It's just standard procedure, and after . . . _certain information_ provided by your friends, we consider it especially important to get every side of this story."

Chris nodded, unable to think of a better response. The woman reached over and clicked on the camera, and a small red light blinked on. "Please state your name for the record."

Unsurprisingly, the interview was a complete disaster.

He gave them the basic rundown of the night, not excluding any larger details. He was done with lies. When he got to the Stranger and the wendigos, he felt a strange sense of satisfaction. They pressed for more details, alternate ideas of what happened, even tried to pin the events on his friends or the Stranger. But Chris stuck to his word, and the police only got more exasperated. He had a feeling they had been through similar conversations six times already.

"Christopher, I don't know when or why you and your friends cooked up this little fairy tale, but you must realize how important it is that we know what really happened that night. If you're trying to cover up the actions of Joshua Washington, it's hardly helping his case that these events, including the violent murder of a man, are trying to be passed off as the work of – "

"His _case_?" The interviewer seemed irritated by his interruption, but Chris continued before she could respond. The implication that Josh had been responsible for all the horror and death had triggered something deep inside him, and his voice shook. "I'm going to say it one last time, because apparently you can't get the message. Josh didn't hurt anyone, no matter how much of a dick he was with that prank. That man got his head ripped off by a _wendigo_ , the same thing that got Josh. You guys failing to notice an entire horde of cannibalistic monsters on the mountain has led to the death of three kids and an old man, but it's done now. There's nothing left to question people about." He paused, quietly swallowing and willing himself to stay in control. _Don't cry. Not here, not now_. His eyes darted up to look directly into the camera. "This interview is over."

A few people called after him as he walked out, but their voices seemed distant and unimportant. He shrugged off the blue jacket and let it fall to the floor behind him, left to be forgotten like so much else in this awful place.

Blackwood Pines was a small town, and it was only a few blocks from the station to the hospital. Chris's leg felt as if it was burning and his vision blurred as he approached the entrance, and he collapsed to his knees only a few feet away from the great glass doors. Heavy, broken cries filled the silence, and tears finally fell freely onto the cold and empty street.

 

* * *

 

The next time Chris woke up, it was dark. He rubbed at his eyes and sat up back in his hospital bed, looking around at a moonlit ward with all six beds filled. Four of his friends were deeply asleep, chests rising and falling slowly under the thin hospital blankets. Once, he would've laughed at the faint sound of Emily snoring. She had always hated when he pointed it out, and his teasing had earned him a fair share of pillows to the face over the years. Now he just felt empty.

He silently looked at the bed across from him, where Mike, finally back from his vigil by Jess, was sitting on the edge and staring at him. _Hallway,_ Mike mouthed, jabbing his thumb towards the double-doors at the end of the long room. Chris nodded once, and didn't even bother to grab his glasses before pushing the covers away and swinging his legs around.

He paused as he felt a tug at his wrist, and frowned down at the IV. He slipped the needle out of his hand, pressing a bit of cotton from the side-table to the drop of red at the hole. After whatever had knocked him out the second time on the mountain, he was done with drugs of any kind for a while.

Chris winced as he put pressure on his weak leg, but made it out to the hall, where Mike was waiting for him by a large window with his arms crossed. The other boy followed his gaze, and he could see an all-too-familiar peak in the distance, beyond the small town of Blackwood Pines. Chris quickly looked away.

Mike turned his gaze from the window as well, and now that the moonlight fell on him, Chris could see the toll that night had taken. There were heavy, dark circles under Mike's eyes, and they were haunted with a distant and detached look, like he was still seeing the mountain instead of the polished hallway of the hospital. One hand subconsciously twisted at the doctor-issued band around his other wrist, where fresh bandages covered his two missing fingers.

He seemed to notice Chris staring, and chuckled. "Yeah, I know. I look like shit. You aren't the first one to notice." His hand paused, and he ran it through his mess of dark hair. "Hate to break it to you, but you aren't looking so hot either."

The taller boy shrugged blankly. If he could count on Mike for one thing, he didn't sugarcoat. That is, unless he was cranking up the charm for some hapless girl or any influential adults. But Chris was his friend, and he'd be getting no delicate tiptoeing around from their good old class president.

"Yeah, well." Chris swallowed, dropping his gaze. "Not every day you go through a living horror movie only to find that not everyone got out the other side."

Mike shook his head, wasting no time in getting to the point. "Josh isn't dead."

For the second time that day, Chris could feel the impact of his friend's words. His head snapped up, staring at the other boy with his mouth slightly ajar. He half expected it to be some sort of cruel joke, but Mike gave a rueful grimace. "As far as I know, he's still kicking, Chris. Not that it'll remain that way for long. They left him behind on that mountain, somewhere in the mines."

Words failed him. _Breathe, Chris,_ the logical part of his brain reminded him, and he took in a shaky breath. He tried to focus on staying calm. _Inhale, hold, exhale._ The same advice he had given a thousand times to . . . No, thinking about that would only make it worse. _Breathe._

Once the words had taken their toll and he was in control of his breathing again, a small stuttering sound escaped his mouth, and Mike shook his head again. "I know it's . . . a lot to take in. And I'm sorry, man. This one is on me." He took a deep breath as well, suddenly seeming very interested in the floor tiles. "I watched it take him down there. I couldn't _move_."

Silence filled the hall. It held for a few seconds, and each boy could feel the tension in the air between them. "So you left him." There was a slight tremor to Chris's voice, once he found it; one which he was trying very hard to keep in check. "Not the rescue team. You."

Mike nodded stiffly once, still not meeting his eyes. "I was a coward. I didn't even try to follow. And I told the police, when they were interviewing everyone. Thought they could help, send someone in there to get him out." He laughed again, quietly, humorlessly. "They think we're all delusional, as I'm sure you've already found out. Not that I blame them. What kind of nutjob would believe in Native American cannibal monsters running around in the mines?" Bitter sarcasm dripped from his voice, but then he went silent for a few seconds. Chris kept watching him intently, waiting for whatever he was withholding. Mike pressed his lips together, and the next words were obviously a struggle. "They . . . Fuck, Chris, they aren't even sending in a rescue party. They don't want to risk men going into that death trap of a mine for a lost cause."

 _Lost cause. Death trap. Delusional._ The words echoed around Chris's mind, but everything seemed wrong. He couldn't connect them to Josh, alone in the dark isolation of the mines. Surely they couldn't just . . . give up?

"No." His voice sounded tiny. His head was spinning again, and he leaned against the wall. Chris's eyes found the distant peak of the mountain again through the window, where he now knew his best friend was trapped. "That can't be _allowed_. He's alive up there! We can call the Washingtons, get them to insist. Bob'll sue the ass off anyone who challenges him, you know he will – "

"Chris," Mike interrupted, and finally met his friend's eyes. The two boys stared at each other in the low light, and Chris could see something in Mike that he wasn't sure he had ever shown before. All fire and fight seemed to be gone from him – he had the blank, tired eyes of someone who was completely defeated. Seeing that in Mike was terrifying. "It was the Washingtons who gave the order. No more search parties. No more false hope. They're leaving the mountain alone, for good. They've decided it's time to give peace to everyone who died there . . . including their kids."

To that, Chris had no response. He could barely process the information. He had experienced firsthand the Washingtons' desperation after Hannah and Beth went missing – they had searched for months and months, refusing to give up on the twins for so long, even when all hope seemed lost. And now, the second time they had lost children to the mountain, Bob and Melinda simply gave up. What made Josh any different from his sisters?

 _His sisters never masqueraded as psychotic killers for an elaborate prank,_ a nagging voice poked in at the back of his mind. _His sisters never tortured their friends for a viral video. Hannah and Beth were_ normal.

 _Shut up,_ Chris snapped under his breath, and turned around, finally tearing his eyes away from Mike. He began walking quickly down the hallway, leaving his friend in the dust.

"Hey!" Mike hissed in a whisper-yell, jogging to catch up with Chris. "Where the hell are you going?"

"Blackwood Mountain." Chris walked a little faster, ignoring the sharp pain in his bad leg. His bare feet slapped against the cool tile of the hospital floor in an irregular pattern. "If they aren't going after him, I am."

Mike scoffed. "Christopher, it's fucking midnight. You're checked into a hospital with a concussion and a leg you can barely walk on. You aren't going anywhere any time soon." He grabbed Chris's arm to stop him, and the other boy wheeled around to fix a death glare on his friend.

"If you don't let go of me, Munroe, you're going to walk back into that ward with five fingers instead of eight."

"Thumbs don't count as fingers, jackass. And what are you going to do, bite them off?" Mike let go all the same, and the two boys stood staring each other down once more. "I know this is hard. I know what he meant to you. But this is a suicide mission."

"Is that what you tell yourself when you try to justify leaving him behind? That you would've been risking your own neck, so it was right to leave your own friend to die?"

Chris immediately regretted what he had said. Mike physically recoiled, taking a step back and looking incredulously at him. He had obviously hit a sore spot. Chris's shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand through his muss of blond hair. "Look, man, I'm sorry. But I can't just leave him up there. I can't."

After a moment, Mike sighed. His eyes wandered away, and he gave a tiny shake of his head. "I shouldn't have thought you would. And they think _I'm_ the heroic idiot." A quiet laugh rang through the empty corridor as Mike's gaze flitted back to Chris. "Just . . . not now, okay? You need to rest, get help here while you can. You'll hardly be any help to Josh if you're limping around everywhere and passing out."

Chris's resolve wavered. As much as he wanted to argue, Chris was a realist. He knew that Mike was right, and he hated him for it. Every minute that he wasted in this hospital was another minute that Josh had to survive alone in those godforsaken mines, but there was literally nothing he could do. Not yet, anyway.

Once Mike saw that Chris wasn't going to go charging off alone anymore, he offered a small, tired smile and started backing away. "We should both get some rest, you know. You've gotta take care of yourself." He paused, and then added, "He'd want it that way."

That night, lying still and staring at the beams of moonlight falling across the floor, one thought repeated again and again in Chris's mind. A whisper, a hope, a promise.

_He's alive._

_And I'm bringing him home._


	2. Return

It had been two weeks since the winter getaway, and snow was falling again as a sleek silver car sped down a lonely mountain road.

Mike was in the driver's seat, quietly mouthing the words to the alternative song blasting from the speakers while Chris looked out the passenger's side window, watching the familiar white and green landscape fly by.

From the second the group had been discharged from the Blackwood Community Hospital, Chris had been preparing for this day. Although, he supposed, he had really been mentally planning ever since the first night Mike told him about Josh. The morning after their midnight argument, Chris had dragged Mike back into the hall and warned him not to spill a word of his plan to the others. Naturally, he had gotten yet another stare that very plainly read _you've gone fucking insane_.

"You can't be serious."

"I am. You know they'll want to stop me or come with me or something, especially Sam. I'm not dragging anyone else down with me if this goes south."

Mike had argued a bit further, but, after a while of reaching no leeway from Chris, had given in with an almost incoherent grumble about stubborn, selfless idiots.

Surprisingly, after that, Mike had been his closest supporter. He helped him with research, gathered supplies, and, although reluctant to leave a still-recovering Jess, offered to make the long drive back to Blackwood when they realized Chris didn't own a car. Chris had a sneaking suspicion that all this had to do with a sort of redemption. Mike had always had a bit of a hero complex, and abandoning Josh had left him in a constant state of guilt. In his mind, helping bring him back would make up for that somehow.

After the night when Mike woke up in a cold sweat on Chris's couch after late-night preparations, gasping _I'm sorry_ s about leaving someone behind, Chris couldn't find it in himself to hold a grudge anymore.

When they were less than an hour away from Blackwood, the car radio suddenly descended into indecipherable static and sputtered out. Mike sighed and bashed at the dashboard, but was only answered with a few sparks at the display.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't blow us up before we even got there, Munroe." Chris's voice was dry, but he couldn't help his lips turning up slightly in amusement. "Then again, blowing shit up seems to be your specialty now."

Mike scoffed, but left the radio alone. A new silence filled the car, and the growing sense of awkwardness was palpable. "So, uh," Mike eventually glanced over at Chris, grasping at some sort of conversation. "How are you doing?"

"Peachy."

He let out a snort of laughter. "Jesus, man, where did all the bad puns and internet humor go? All this sarcasm is making you sound more like . . ." Mike suddenly fell quiet, and gripped the steering wheel just a little tighter as they weaved around the icy roads.

Chris turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. "Like Josh," he finished for him, and Mike made a small sound of affirmation. "His name isn't taboo, you know. He's kind of the whole reason we're out here."

The other boy shifted uncomfortably. "I know. It's just . . . The closer we get, the more real this feels. I have a bad feeling that in the end, it's all gonna go to hell again. What if we're too late? Or if something happens up there, and we lose you for nothing as well?"

"It's not too late." Chris's voice was firm, and his hand tightened around something in his pocket. "He's not nothing, and you aren't going to lose me."

"Mm." Mike paused, eyes flitting over to Chris. "You know, you still don't have to do this alone. Even if we kept it from the others – which was still a majorly stupid idea, by the way – I'm here. You don't have to be some sort of hero."

 _Hero?_ Chris had never really thought of himself as being anything a hero was. He wasn't particularly brave, or strong, or impressive. He was no Mike, or Matt, or even Sam. He was the tech nerd with the glasses and nothing going for him but grades and a sense of humor. But now Michael Munroe – class president, co-valedictorian, and action hero of Blackwood – was sitting there and calling him a hero. Chris took it with a grain of salt, and laughed a little as he slid the thoughts to the back of his mind.

"Look, dude, I appreciate the sentiment, but I know how to handle myself. I know this mountain like the back of my hand, and the wendigos are gone after your expert pyrotechnics." He flashed a small smile at his friend. "I'll be back with the both of us in no time. Easy-peasy."

"Right. Easy." They slipped back into a more comfortable silence, but Mike didn't seem convinced. Chris closed his eyes and leaned back against the headrest, taking his last opportunity for rest as the snow whirled around them.

 

* * *

 

_December, 2005_

"We're here! Come on, Chris, look!"

Just over nine years before, light flurries of snow dusted the same winding road Chris and Mike had taken through the mountains. A ten-year-old boy with soft blond hair looked around at his best friend, his bright blue eyes not yet hidden by glasses. He scrambled over, practically crawling on top of the other boy and eliciting a huff from the preteen Josh.

"You don't have to squash me, man."

"Well, I can't see it out my window! Scoot over."

The older boy shuffled close to the car door, and two sets of eyes followed the finger Josh was pressing against the cool glass. The crest of a new mountain was peeking over the horizon. It was capped by snow, but the sun setting behind it gave a golden glow to the peak. "It's called Mount Madahee," Josh explained quietly, and his breath fogged the glass. "But everyone calls it Blackwood."

"It's beautiful," Chris breathed. A grin spread over his face. "Why do they call it that, though?"

"Easier to pronounce? Actually, the area at the bottom is called Blackwood Pines; there's a town there. And there used to be some hotel or something up on the mountain. That's what Mom and Dad converted to make the lodge."

Chris laughed happily. "It must be huge."

From the front of the car, Bob Washington glanced back to smile at the boys. "Sure is, kiddo. You're going to love it." When his son had first asked if he could bring a friend along to the family's annual winter getaway, Bob had been hesitant. A couple weeks was a long time for a kid to be away from his parents, and especially during the holiday season. But now that Chris was with them, the truth was, he had never seen Josh happier or more engaged on a trip. "Are you two ready? Not much further to go now."

"I'm fine, Dad." Josh turned to Chris, and he was smiling. It was so easy, so carefree. Almost unrecognizable as belonging to the broken boy of nearly a decade later. "Chris?"

The younger boy nodded eagerly. "Definitely."

They continue to chat excitedly about the mountain for the next half hour or so, and before they knew it, the base of Blackwood loomed before them. Beyond the sign that welcomed them, a single icy path led out into the woods, which Josh had told Chris led to the cable car station.

While Bob unpacked the car and Melinda woke up the young twins, who had fallen asleep a couple hours ago in the back of the eight-seater, the boys hopped out to look around. Chris stared in awe as he slung his backpack over his shoulder.

Josh noticed his friend's stunned expression, and smiled a little as he nudged his arm. "Cool, huh? Just wait 'til we reach the top."

Chris laughed, shaking his head. "I just can't believe this. I can't believe your family owns this place."

"One of the perks of having a rich and famous dad." He smirked. "Or a rich and not-so-famous best friend."

Chris opened his mouth, but before he could answer, a snowball hit him full-force on the back of the head. He spun around, shaking the snow out of his hair, and saw a tiny Beth Washington giggling from the side of the car. Her gloves were covered in powder. Hannah stood a little behind her, and even she was smiling sleepily as she rubbed her eyes.

"Bullseye, sis!" Josh laughed, but a second later, snow exploded on his own shirt. "Hey! Traitor!"

More snowballs flew, and before long, it was an all-out war. Even Hannah got roped into taking her sister's side, and their parents watched from the car, smiling softly at the scene. In that moment, everything was peaceful. The sun slowly set behind the trees, and the cool night air was filled with children's laughter.

 

* * *

 

_Present_

"We're here. Come on, Chris . . ."

Chris slowly opened his eyes, and sat up straight in his seat. There was no Josh, no Beth, no Hannah. But the mountain was there, unchanged in over nine years.

Mike was watching him warily, and Chris could see that the place already made him uncomfortable. He couldn't blame him – a shudder ran down his own spine, and he knew it had nothing to do with the cold. He unlocked his seatbelt and shifted around a little to wake up his stiff limbs.

Both boys stepped out of the car, and they left footprints in the deep snow as they walked around to the back of the car. It was silent as they opened the trunk and did a last check on supplies, gathering everything for the trip up the mountain. Not even birds called out in the trees. Maybe they could feel the air of death surrounding this place, too. Chris would have avoided it with them if he could, but he had a job to do.

Only when everything was accounted for and Chris had put on his backpack did Mike break that silence. "So. This is it, then." He huffed and looked around them, up at the snow-capped trees and along the path heading away into the woods. "You're really doing this."

Chris nodded. "We've been planning for weeks, man. Of course I'm going. It's not like we can leave it any longer for him."

"I guess so." Mike paused, and he studied Chris's expression. "Are you afraid?"

"Fucking terrified."

There was a beat of silence, and then both of them laughed. "At least you haven't completely lost it," Mike chuckled. "But you still have one more chance to change the plan, Chris. You shouldn't be alone."

"Michael." Chris's voice was quiet, but final. "This is my responsibility. I won't risk anyone else."

Mike gave a resigned smile, and it fell quiet again. A few seconds later, he stepped forward and enveloped Chris in a fierce hug. Chris was shocked, and he heard the other boy murmur something near his ear. "If you die up there, I'll kill you."

"Don't worry. Dying isn't on the agenda."

They broke apart after a few moments and held each other's eyes. Something passed between them, and Mike nodded as he stepped back. "Bring him home, Chris."

He nodded in return. "See you at dawn."


	3. Resurgence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I promise that this will be the last transition/introductory chapter. I apologize for it being fairly short, but as you'll see by the end of it, the main part of the story will get going at the beginning of the next chapter!
> 
> I'd also like to say thank you to all the lovely people who've left kudos and/or comments – positive feedback is always so appreciated, and it really makes my day whenever a notification pops up! You guys are the best. Enjoy!

A strong sense of déjà vu hit Chris as he sat in the cable car, watching the sun set over the mountaintops. Only this time Sam was far away and safe, and he was alone.

If he'd told the others of his plan beforehand, there was no doubt in his mind that she would have been sitting here with him again, determined to help rescue Josh. But he had sworn Mike to secrecy, and he wasn't sure whether he regretted it or not. Wishing for the others to be here with him again, waltzing back into who knew what dangers, felt selfish.

After slipping the cable car key into his pocket – more thankful than ever that Hannah's notorious habit of losing things when she was younger had prompted the Washingtons to hide a spare in the lower station – he passed the time by rearranging his backpack one more time. He had to travel lightly, but after two weeks, he couldn't come with nothing for Josh. Who knew what state he'd be in when Chris got there? The bag was filled with a basic medical kit, simple food provisions, clean water, and an extra jacket. Plus, of course, a powerful flashlight and spare batteries.

Soon enough the cable car jolted into the station, and Chris zipped the bag shut as the doors slid open. He tried to avoid looking at the small room as he rushed through it. Since nobody had been there since the rescue teams, it was still destroyed and graffitied with red paint, evidence of Josh's plan to terrorize and trap them all. He didn't want to remember that tonight.

From there, it was only a short walk up the path to the charred husk of the Washington Lodge. When it first came over the horizon, Chris's breath hitched, and he had to pause and lean against a tree to close his eyes. _Breathe._ But even when he began walking again, his legs felt shakier than before.

It was hard to see that place reduced to scorched wood and ashes. So many memories were connected with it, the good and the bad, and he didn't want to lose any of it. Unfortunately, there was only one sure way he knew into the area of the mines he needed, and to get to that . . .

He slowly approached the ruins, and tried not to listen to the crunching of rubble under his feet when he passed over where the front of the house had once stood.

Even after the destruction, far too much was recognizable among what was left of the lodge. The couch he had sat in for countless hours watching TV and playing games. The chess table where he had beaten all three Washington siblings consecutively, only to be annihilated by Emily. The old painting Matt had thrown a football into, and the rug Jess had thrown up on the first time they got her drunk. The antique grandfather clock that had chimed in so many New Years, and one most memorably of all . . . All lost and destroyed in the fire, taunting Chris from the ashes.

It didn't take long to clear the blackened remains of furniture and decor enough to see what was left of the downward staircase, and then he was making the small drop down into the basement.

Miraculously, the subterranean levels of the lodge had remained intact after the explosion and fire. Sure, they were in bad shape, but some mildly illegal research into the post-incident reports had confirmed that the route he needed to take was still possible.

When he passed through the safe room, hurrying through to avoid the memories as he had everywhere so far, something in the corner of his eye stopped him in his tracks. _There is no fucking way . . ._

The old man's journal had survived the destruction, sitting next to the collapsed table where Ashley had left it. Chris laughed. _Of all the things to make it out._

Of course, he didn't really need it. All it contained was information on the wendigos, and they were long gone. But Chris found himself slipping it into his bag anyway, and he had a strange feeling as he left the ruined lodge behind him and descended into the tunnels.

 

* * *

 

_December, 2006_

"You're sure we're allowed to be down here?"

"Not at all."

A young Chris rolled his eyes at Josh, who was smirking back at him. A year had passed since his first visit to the mountain, but not much had changed in Chris by the time he was invited back. He rubbed at his eyes, which were blurry and difficult to keep open. His own body seemed to be fighting the questionable decision of a midnight adventure, which his friend had shaken him awake for not ten minutes before. Josh, however, was powering on ahead, fueled by a combination of excitement and insomnia. "Are you even going to tell me where we're going?"

"That would ruin the surprise! Just keep pointing the flashlight ahead. I can't see a thing, and we've got tons of old junk lying around." Chris complied with a sigh, and continued walking slowly down the hallway of the lodge's basement.

He knew that Josh's dad directed horror films – what self-respecting sixth grader hadn't secretly watched at least one of Bob Washington's famous R-rated blockbusters? But that didn't lessen the fact that his 'old movie junk', as Josh called it, was creepy as hell in the dimly-lit middle of the night. He shuddered as they passed a mask resembling a skull, with only black pits where the eyes should be.

"We're almost there," Josh reassured him eagerly, and Chris smiled.

Not long afterwards, they stopped in front of a door. Josh pulled it open with a long creak, and dust swirled in the beam of light. Behind it, a very old staircase led down into darkness that even the flashlight couldn't reach. Chris gulped quietly, and the other boy laughed. "Come on, Chris. Scared of a little old staircase?"

"Ah, shut up. I don't believe in all that monster and ghost crap." But forced confidence couldn't hide the wariness in his voice, and Josh's smile softened. A moment later, a warm hand slipped into his and squeezed.

"You don't need to worry about it. Things aren't scary unless you're alone. Anyway, it's just this cool old place I found once. There's this whole – "

"Joshua."

A loud thump echoed around the basement as the flashlight hit the floor. Chris hurried to pick it up again as both boys wheeled around to see Josh's father standing behind them, arms crossed as he leaned against a wall. Now it was Josh's turn to gulp. "Dad?"

"You know you aren't supposed to be down here," he sighed, irritation plain in his voice. "Especially in the middle of the night, and dragging your friend along with you. What were you thinking?" Chris shrunk in on himself, and Josh struggled for an argument.

"I – I mean, we were just – "

"It was my idea, Mr. Washington." Two sets of eyes trained on Chris, both disbelieving. He subtly squeezed Josh's hand, and looked sheepishly at his dad. _Trust me._ "I couldn't sleep, and neither could Josh, and I asked if we could go explore. I'm sorry."

In the time after his lie, he held his breath, waiting for a reaction. Bob seemed to visibly relax after a moment, and rubbed his temple with one hand. "I get being curious, and restless. You're kids. But there are rules, and both of you should know better than this." He sighed again and waved them back towards where they had come from. "Go on, you two. Get some damn rest, and try not to wake the house at midnight again."

Chris nodded quickly, and pulled a slightly stunned Josh along with him as they walked past his dad. Once they reached the main floor again, where windows let in beams of moonlight, Chris clicked off the flashlight and they ran the rest of the way to the bedroom.

After closing the door behind them, he turned to see Josh standing in the middle of the room, staring at him. They held a shared gaze for a few seconds before Josh finally spoke. "Why did you lie?"

The other boy shrugged, unable to repress a grin. "People are easier on other people's kids. It's called quick thinking, _Joshua_."

Josh laughed as he shook his head. "Unbelievable. You're a genius."

"I know." Chris collapsed back onto his guest mattress, and reached over to click off the light. "Come on, let's get to sleep before he comes in after us."

"I knew there was a reason I kept you around," he teased. The room was filled with rustling as they both pulled on the covers and settled in, but the stillness didn't last long even after that. "Thanks, Chris."

Their hands found each other once again in the dark, and before long, they fell asleep holding on to one another. When the sunlight found them the next morning, they hadn't let go.

 

* * *

 

_Present_

That was one mystery solved, he supposed.

Chris had always wondered what Josh had planned to show him that night, but he had always shrugged it off as nothing when Chris asked afterward. Now he had an entirely different set of memories in the underground tunnels he had once been so interested in discovering, but standing at the top of that staircase he felt eleven years old again; young and vulnerable, afraid of the dark.

Things were less nostalgic when he passed through the tunnels and into the mines themselves. Those held nothing but darkness and pain. He was suddenly very glad about the habit of wearing multiple layers that had earned him so much teasing from his friends, but even through all his winter clothing, those mines had a way of chilling him down to the bone. He supposed that part of it was simply how much he knew about their dark history.

Ever since the first time he came to the mountain, he'd known about the incident back in the fifties. It was some of the most exciting local lore, and he and Josh had picked up bit and pieces of the story every time they went into town on the retreats. Some of the Blackwood locals were old enough to remember, but it took a while to get anything out of them. Nobody liked the mountain all that much, and even less all the old stories surrounding it. But they had put together the story eventually, and the disaster that had taken so many lives excited them. After all, they were only children, and once it had been nothing more than an interesting campfire tale to them.

They'd never been allowed into the mines, and with good reason. Much as Chris hated to admit it, "death trap" was pretty much the perfect description for them. Even now he hurried through the dark, weaving tunnels, eager to get in and out as quick as possible.

Judging by the set of instructions Mike had given him from as much as he could remember, Chris was getting close now. Yes, that was the underground lake, which meant . . .

Chris stopped. He became very aware of his own breathing, and his pulse thrummed through his body. Surely that couldn't be the normal heart rate? And . . . were his legs suppose to feel like they were moulded to the ground? Mobility seemed like an abstract concept.

_Just go, you idiot. You don't even know if he's in there._

Slowly, putting one foot before the other, he walked forward into what used to be the wendigo's lair.

As soon as he'd entered the place, he wanted to leave. A primal instinct screamed for him to run, but he only walked further as goosebumps rose on his arms. The air still held a metallic tang from all the blood that had been spilled, and the cavern was damp and somehow even colder than the rest of the mining shafts. Stalactites were scattered across the ceiling, along with a series of horrible hooks and chains and cages that he didn't even want to think about the purpose of. But what drew Chris's attention was something off in the corner, barely visible against the cave wall until he got closer.

Not some _thing_ , really. Some _one_.

The beam of his flashlight found the shadowy figure, and a huddled mess of dark hair and ragged overalls came into view. Chris could hardly choke out what he had been so desperate to say ever since the first night off the mountain, from the moment he learned the truth. But his voice rang through the cavern a moment later, shaken and filled with a cautious sort of hope.

"Josh?"


End file.
